


Posturing

by morganya



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-09
Updated: 2009-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I could stick my fuckin' tongue down your throat."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Posturing

Sometimes they push each others' buttons. Pete blames it on their both being insomniacs who get crazy when they don't sleep, when he talks about it at all. Gabe sees it as just something that happens, when he thinks about it at all.

It's kind of a rush when it happens. No one else seems to get that. After a shoving match in Kansas City that left them both banged up (Gabe was drunk, Pete was just whacked out of his gourd on something), Tyler snorted and dismissed both of them as a couple of fucking alpha males scrabbling for territory. It showed a distinct lack of understanding on his part, Gabe thought afterwards, crammed into the back of Fall Out Boy's van, sharing Pete's Sour Patch Kids with him, talking about time travel while nursing mutual black eyes.

This tour's just been weird because Gabe's between girlfriends and Pete and Jeanae have swung back into off-again, for the moment. Time that could have been spent cooing sweet nothings into the phone gets spent sizing each other up instead.

Backstage at the venue, post-sound check and with hours before the show, Gabe gets out of the shower feeling not much cleaner than before. He doesn't bother putting his shirt back on, just zips up his jeans and heads out; the floor is filthy but he likes to live dangerously (and he can't find his socks) so he doesn't put his shoes on either. He sprawls out on the couch next to Pete and taps at his Sidekick, trying to see if anyone back home is awake and wants to entertain him for a while.

"Dude, what the hell did you put on?" Pete says, without looking up from his own phone. "You smell like a herd of feral babies."

"Uh, it's called soap," Gabe says.

"No way in hell is that soap." Pete nudges his leg with his big toe. "My eyes are fuckin' burning, Jesus."

"Hygiene," Gabe says. "You wouldn't understand."

"Fuck you. We're fuckin' living out of our suitcases nine months of the year. It's _carte_ fuckin' _blanche_ not to shower."

"Yeah, walk around smelling like a morgue, no big deal," Gabe says. Pete keeps nudging him. "Dude, you're trying to _gouge_ me, what the fuck."

"No, I'm not," Pete says. He jabs his foot into Gabe's hip.

"Did your mommy not put you down for your nap today?" Gabe bats at Pete's foot.

"If you're talking about Patrick, no, he didn't. That kid is really slacking off."

"I wish he'd come in now. I'm doing fuckin' important big shot things here. I ain't paid to babysit you."

"Dude, you're probably just texting some girl."

"Keep thinking that, jealous," Gabe says. He had in fact been trying to text one of his exes, but Pete doesn't need to know that. Pete kicks his knee.

"Knock that off," Gabe says, slapping at the bottom of Pete's foot. His nails brush against the sole lightly, and Pete jerks away and actually _squeaks_.

"What the fuck was that?" Gabe says, laughing. Pete looks embarrassed but quickly composes himself.

"What?" he says.

"That fuckin' little baby kitty noise you just made."

"You're hearing things."

"I'm hearing _this_ ," Gabe says, and pokes him. Pete squeaks and then says, "Fuck you, go away."

"Why, because you don't like it when I go, like –" Gabe grabs his ankle and rubs a finger over the bottom of his foot.

"Fuckin' stop," Pete says, yelping and squirming.

"Is it because this _bothers_ you?"

"You're a fucking dick."

"Why, because you laugh like a pussy and –"

Pete jerks up off the couch and slaps his hand directly onto Gabe's nipple. " _Ow_ , motherfucker!"

"Serves you right." Pete is out of breath, sweat forming at his temples.

"Oh, this is on now," Gabe says, and launches himself across the couch. He's taller but Pete has years of soccer training to fall back on, and so even though he manages to get his forearm pressed across Pete's shoulder blades, pinning him down, Pete brings his knee up and crashes it into his stomach. It knocks the wind out of him and he doubles over. Pete slides out from under him.

"What're you doing, trying to get me in the nuts?" Gabe wheezes, in a vain attempt to save face. "You can't –"

"You want _rules_ , motherfucker?" Pete says. His eyes are huge and black, sparks of light dancing in the irises. "I'm a fuckin' bite-size morsel of pain, I don't –"

Gabe shoves himself up and runs at him. They go down hard, falling onto the grungy backstage carpet that smells like beer and cigarettes. Gabe scissors his legs around Pete's ankles.

"You're such a goddamn pussy," Pete says. His face is inches from Gabe; his breath smells like chocolate and apple. "You can't even –"

"Can't _what_ , asshole?" Gabe says. He snakes his hand into Pete's hair and pulls.

Pete hisses and claws at his shoulder, red raw streaks flashing by Gabe's field of vision. "Foxy boxing? Is that what you want, Saporta?"

"That's what _you_ want," Gabe says. "I'll fuckin' walk out of this club with your fuckin' blood on my teeth."

"You're the worst vegetarian ever," Pete says. "Hey, if you like it so much –" He grabs Gabe by the hair. It stings like hell and Gabe can feel his heart start to pound.

"You're just dancing with me now," Gabe says. "Make your fuckin' move before I get too bored."

"You don't look that bored to me."

"I haven't even started. I –"

"Yeah?" Pete's mouth is pressed up against his neck, warm and slick. "Well, when are you going to fucking start, then?"

Gabe digs his fingers into Pete's shoulders and hauls him up. Pete's legs wrap around his waist almost automatically, even while he's thrashing and flailing his arms around, and Gabe throws him up against the wall.

"I could stick my fuckin' tongue down your throat," Pete says. "I could –"

"Yeah, I bet you've been dreaming about that all goddamn day," Gabe says. He's got Pete stuck fast between him and the wall, and Pete is clawing ribbons down his back. Gabe hasn't really decided what he's going to do. He presses his arm against Pete's throat and watches him go slack. His eyes are too big for his face, staring transfixed. "Say it. Say you've been waiting for that."

"Can't – say –" Pete manages, and Gabe loosens his hold, just a little.

He hasn't really thought about Pete's cock pressing against his thigh, or his own cock going achingly hard, because that's just another thing that happens and nothing spectacular ever comes of it. They once had a fight in Dallas that ended with Pete's hand down his shorts, Gabe gasping and panting and totally ready to follow through, but Pete's dick phobia got in the way and they wound up just kind of staring at each other. It's better, usually, not to mention it.

"Tell me how you want to stick your tongue in my mouth," Gabe says. "Tell me how you want me to shut you the fuck up."

And Pete smiles wide and wolfish and says, "You think _you're_ shutting me up, motherfucker?"

"Prick," Gabe says, pressing Pete up against the wall, stuck between his legs, and he comes hard enough to make his legs shake. Pete makes a soft hurt noise, shuddering against him, face in Gabe's shoulder, and goes limp. Gabe releases his hold and lets him slide to the floor.

He presses his face against his forearm for a moment while he gets his breath. Pete's head goes thump against the wall.

"I just washed these fuckin' pants," Gabe says muffledly.

"Extra laundry day," Pete says. "Scrounge up some quarters."

"You're paying."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Pete pushes himself away from the wall, through the V of Gabe's legs, and gets to his feet. "We gotta get on stage in like two hours, dude. I've got _no_ fuckin' energy left."

"I feel fine," Gabe says.

"Yeah, okay. While you're feeling fine, want to grab a nap with me?"

"Only because you asked nice."

"Sweet."

He falls asleep on the couch with his head on Pete's shoulder, dreaming uneasily, knowing all the while that Pete's still awake beside him.


End file.
